


The Final Test

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, One way Eggsy passes the dog test
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester decides to get rid of Eggsy Unwin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chester sits by the stone fireplace, in the leather chair pointed towards the entry way, and pours himself a drink. “Send him in, Merlin,” he orders, glancing at the weapon tucked out of sight for the moment. “And you can test Miss Morton in the other room.”

“Certainly,” Merlin says, and goes to do as Arthur’s commanded. Chester waits, idly glancing at the bookshelves packed with leather-bound volumes. Most of them are histories and protocols and records of Kingsman, yet some are for the pleasure of the agents who sometimes stroll in here for a break. Merlin almost never leaves his desk, but Percival and the former Lancelot and Galahad would convene here after a busy day to have a drink and chat.

He wonders what it would be like, after Valentine’s finished with his test in Kentucky and the final culling. Perhaps it would stay the same, perhaps not. Kingsman is something that’s always been stable, considering, and hardly ever changing. It should stay that way; Valentine promised him that the organization would continue to receive donations from him as long as Kingsman stood aside.

Eggsy comes in wearing his tailored tartan suit and with that scrawny little pug on a leash. His hair is combed like Galahad's, except that rough strands errantly stick out from the sides.

Chester observes him again—the last time he saw him was in the infirmary, worried and with tears in his eyes over Galahad lying in the hospital bed. At first, he didn't take notice, but then wondered, _Who invited the boy? How did he get into a Kingsman room? How did he know about Galahad's condition?_ He knew about Galahad's candidate; in his office, his eyes had passed over the file of Gary "Eggsy" Unwin dismissively. The only notable of record was his brief military experience, perhaps his gymnastic awards as well. But other than that this boy was Lee's son, Chester wondered what Galahad thought he was doing. Kingsman was no joke, no breeding ground for harebrained schemes, no room for screw-arounds.

There _is_ loyalty in the boy—he wouldn't have passed the train test otherwise—and Chester considers, for a moment. Perhaps Eggsy could be useful. He knew enough to not go blubbering and spill what little he knew about Kingsman—unlike the disappointment, Charlie—and Chester had watched some of Merlin’s footage. He was devoted to what little friends he had—Roxanne Morton and that mangy little pug—and showed quick-thinking and tenacity.

But, no. Chester remembers his plan, because Eggsy’s too loyal, he is, and if Galahad won't say yes to his proposal, neither will the boy, if he somehow manages to pass the test. There's no way Galahad will stand aside and allow the SIM cards to do their work, as noble as he is. And when Eggsy gets sent home, it’s very likely that, as poor as the boy is, he’d get or his family would have one of Valentine’s free SIM cards in their phones. Galahad would never stand for that, and had Merlin and many of the agents already on his side. Infighting would be unnecessary and complicated, and Chester will not let Kingsman fall into ruin.

Eggsy doesn't immediately sit in the chair—someone's at least taught him that much—and instead waits until Chester nods and beckons for him to take a seat.

"You're from the estates, aren't you?" Chester begins, with a sort of fatherly smile.

The boy nods in response.

"This must be such an opportunity for you. I'm surprised you made it this far."

Too much of a sneer in his tone; Chester reminds himself to keep up the friendly demeanor for this to work. He doesn’t know if Galahad’s mentioned him or what the boy’s picked up, and if his guess is correct, Eggsy thinks Kingsman’s full of what Galahad recently called _snobs._ He intends to dispel that image, for the time being.

Eggsy’s eyes flash defiantly, his mouth twisting at the edges. “Thank you,” he says, with dignity, though his chav accent blurs strongly in his stressed voice. “But I’m proud of where I come from. Lots of people think that the estates are rough and nothin’ else, but you learn things. Loyalty, persistence, how to survive.” He desperately looks as if he wants to add something else, but bites his lip, clearly restraining a no-doubt uncouth comment.

The boy doesn’t understand, Chester realizes. The boy doesn’t understand that he’ll always be _tainted._ He’ll never be good enough if he doesn’t strike off the chains that bind him there. He’ll never pass the test.

He’ll fail to learn what Chester has had to learn. He needed a lesson.

Chester decides to move things along, gesturing to the pug, front paws on Eggsy’s knees. "That's a pretty dog. What's his name?"

"JB."

Chester raises his eyebrows. "James Bond?" How quaint.

“No,” Eggsy says, with a proud little grin. “Jack Bauer.”

Ah. From an American television show. Interesting. “Oh!” he smiles, amused. He then reaches down and takes the gun, playfully aiming it, just so, between the boy’s eyes. They widen, with a bit of fear and surprise, and his body tenses, just for an instant.

Chester then smiles genially, as if as a joke, offering the gun to Eggsy, who hesitantly takes it. He truly has no idea what to expect. Perfect.

He takes a sip of his gin, letting the suspense build itself up to a tease, and points to the obediently-sitting pug. "Shoot the dog."

Eggsy takes the gun, but that's as far as he gets; he hesitates, hand trembling, and watches as his dog whimpers, almost as if it knew what was coming. 

Chester sits with his hands folded, as the boy aims, briefly, and lowers it with a shame-faced look. But he won’t go of the gun—either because of pig-headed persistence or because he knows Galahad went to special care in securing a candidacy for him. As Arthur, he has the power to reject a candidate if they prove dangerously or unstably unsuitable; he’d nearly done the same with the boy’s father, but decided to sit back and see if Lee would pass the first test.

He had, and done so remarkably well that Galahad was so overly smug about it. But it ended, of course. Whatever talent the man had done was all gone with a single explosion.

Galahad had decided to see how far he could push, putting forth another little experiment. Lee, had at least, had Marines experience and experience in tactics and firearms. His son had nothing to offer. Chester had nearly chastised Galahad for treating such a long-living organization with such disregard. Sure, the agent hadn’t been pleased about how all of the nominees were all upper-class once more, but that didn’t mean that he could get away with suggesting such a—an unextraordinary candidate.

Expecting Eggsy to drop out or fail spectacularly, Chester had again waited, putting Galahad in charge of the Valentine investigation.

Now, Lee Unwin’s son shakes his head. “No,” he quietly whispers.

Chester knows what to say next, holding out a hand for the gun. "Your loyalty is rewarded. Well done, Eggsy. Or shall I say: Lancelot."

 _No matter,_ Chester thinks, as the boy's eyes light up in surprise and joy. _Once this farce is over, I'll give the title to the girl._

“In fact, I have a mission for you,” Chester says, sliding him the copy file that he’d intended to give to Merlin to pass along to Galahad. But no, this is perfect. “South Glade Mission Church. Valentine intends to test something there. We need an agent to go undercover and find out what exactly what he’s planning.”

“I have a suit,” Eggsy says. “Harry made it up for me.”

“Did he, now?” Galahad strikes again. Chester would need to have a word about protocol to him, having such a valuable thing made for the first boy he plucks off the street. Galahad’s normally intelligent about these things; he’s the most level-headed and can be counted on high-stress or honeypot missions because of this trait. Disappointing to see such a talented agent letting his heart rule him. “Convenient. So, you’re ready?”

"I am! But I—can I first—I need to tell Harry," Eggsy says eagerly, eyes already bright with excitement, but Chester impatiently waves that away.

"I will tell him, and I’m sure he’ll be proud of you. Just go, and follow the instructions. Galahad will come, as soon as he's finished with his mission."

He won't come. He's still tracking Valentine and Gazelle, still conversing with Merlin, still distracted.

Chester then gives Eggsy instructions to access the plane, the weapons compartment, and the liquor cabinet. He then sends instructions to a pilot through his glasses, tells him the coordinates, and asks him to keep this mission classified. Eggsy’s trembling with anticipation, ready to prove himself.

“Best of luck,” he says, and watches as Eggsy jogs out the door, before picking up his phone and dialing. He knew from the reports that Galahad was tracking Valentine—and informed the man himself—knew that Valentine was waiting until tomorrow to test his signal.

Well, he’d have Valentine move it up.


	2. Chapter 2

Eggsy squirms uncomfortably for the tenth time in the pew as sweat runs freely down his forehead and his back. Kentucky is hellishly hot, and this sermon isn’t exactly making it any bearable. People are on their feet, cheering, as the minister’s face turns increasingly darker shades of red. He’s spewing out the same shit he’s heard from his neighborhood, from an officer in the Marines training, from Dean, and Eggsy’s fingernails have been digging into his knees for the past half hour, fighting to maintain a neutral facial expression.

But he’s _Lancelot._ He’s passed the test, he’s proven himself, and he’s going to make his and his family’s lives better. Harry had told him last night that Kingsman pays generously, and Eggsy wonders if a house was part of it. If so, he could move his mum and sister out from under Dean’s thumb. He could make sure his mum didn’t have to work again and that Daisy would go to a good school and that they’d be well-taken of…

Eggsy can keep fantasizing about these new possibilities that are now suddenly at his fingertips, but he has a mission— _how bloody cool is that?—_ and once again glances at the doors, sure that Valentine will walk in any second with that scary-faced woman with blades on her feet.

 _Where is he_? Eggsy wonders, as people begin to rise for a hymn. Didn’t Arthur say that they were testing something?

_"Eggsy, can you hear me?"_

He couldn’t fight a pleased grin. “Harry,” he whispers, barely audible above the singing. “Watching me on my first mission?”

“Mission?” Harry sounds oddly confused. “Eggsy, what are you— _no._ I know you’re upset, but you need to get out of there right now. Valentine’s testing something dangerous, and it’s no job for—”

Eggsy scoffs, surprised. He expected Harry to be confident in him, as he’s always been. “A first-timer? What, you think I can’t do simple surveillance? What did you recruit me for, then? Deskwork?”

“S-surveillance?” There’s a startled speak of feedback, then Harry continues,voice deceptively calm, but with a distinct edge of panic that make some syllables more high-pitched. “Eggsy, _no_ , listen to me—I know you’re disappointed, but that doesn’t give you a call to rush head-first for some—some _task_ to prove yourself.”

“Prove myself? Harry, I’m a _Kingsman._ I earned it, fair and square.”

“Just because you put on the glasses and the suit doesn’t mean you’re a Kingsman.”

And that hurts. That really does. He doesn’t understand what’s going on—shouldn’t Harry be _happy_ for him? Wasn’t he the one who made him look in the mirror, already seeing the man Eggsy hadn’t realized was there? The singing’s now beginning to end, and Eggsy forces himself to drop the scowl on his face before anyone notices. “Yeah. Thanks, Harry. Thought you believed in me, but I guess I was wrong.”

 _“No._ God, Eggsy, no—I—”

“The difference between a gentleman and a chav is not how he behaves, but how he’s treated,” Eggsy snaps. With a few fumbling tries, he manages to disconnect the communication link, cutting off what sounds like feeble protests. He’s not sure how everything managed to go wrong in a few short minutes.

 _Focus on the mission_ , he tells himself. If life’s taught him one thing, it was how to take a punch.

All he has to do is keep moving forward.

Happening to glance upwards at another attempt to drown out the priest’s spitting vitriol, Eggsy notices a black orb. Surveillance. Cameras. That meant it was too dangerous to be in here…

He has to leave.

Immediately.

A high-pitched whine begins, and Eggsy winces— _feedback from the mic?_ —as he stands up. The man next to him glares as Eggsy tries to push past his knees. “Where are you going? We haven’t even received the Eucharist!”

“Look, bruv, I’m just goin’ to use the loo. Yeah? Back of the church?”

The man scowls, then grabs his wrist roughly. Eggsy, for an instant, freezes. _Not Dean. Not Dean_. “You’re _not_ leaving.”

Seriously creepy. The shrill whine is getting louder.

And louder.

 _And louder_.

It’s like endless jabbing in all pressure points in his head, prodding his nerves, stabbing him until something _twinges._

Like punching the two-way mirror—cracks, splinters, _breaks—_

The man even _looks_ like Dean, with curly, brown hair and beady eyes.

And every single nerve in his head goes _haywire._

Eggsy jerks away from the man’s hold, snatches the other hand reaching for him, and _snaps_ so hard that he hears an audible crack. The man howls—but Eggsy doesn’t care—he kicks him to the side— _out of my way_ —and rushes right into the fray without looking back—

He’s fought for his life before, literally, but nothing like this. _Everyone’s_ turned into unrelenting, frantic beasts. Even Dean and his mates had stopped if there was an explicit threat of jail time. But even if the police burst in, Eggsy doubts it would be enough to make everyone stop. Hell, they might _join_ , with his luck…

He sees Charlies and Deans and everyone else that’s given him shit in his life and takes his life back—

He’s not a victim. Not anymore.

Eggsy’s better, faster, stronger, and more trained than anyone. He feels powerful for one of the first times in his life—

Sweat drips down his face, mixing with the blood oozing from a nasty head wound. He’s doing remarkably well—vaulting off pews, ducking and rolling to avoid punches, tossing the hand grenade at a crowd wielding candlesticks, and shooting with devastating accuracy. Snatching the tabernacle, Eggsy uses it as both a shield and a weapon, blocking and dealing blows. It doesn't matter about the guns firing in all directions—he has his umbrella—his shield—finally, a reliable form of _protection..._

He’s younger and faster and trained better than everyone, so it’s no surprise that Eggsy is the only one standing, panting and gasping when he looks at carnage.

“Wh—what—” his voice is stunned, letting his empty gun clatter to the floor and staring at his shaking hands. They’re smeared with bright red blood, and flecks are already drying underneath his fingernails and his exposed hands, like freckles. “Oh my _god._ What…”

He has to leave this place.

He has to report back as a failure, not a true Kingsman—who even _does_ this shit—this isn’t what he signed up for—this is not who he is—

They’ll punish him, he’s sure, but he deserves this, deserves retribution for _everything_ —

The double doors are closed, but Eggsy manages to shove past them, halting at the sight of guns pointed at him, along with Valentine and his partner.

"The valet?" Valentine asks, astonished. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“He’s a little Kingsman,” the woman informs him, eyes assessing the suit. “Working with DeVere?”

Eggsy only raises his hands, palms open. “What the fuck did you do to me? I—I would never—" He sputters, still out of breath. “I can’t even run over a fox on the road—and I—I _wanted_ to kill those people—”

Valentine smiles cheerfully. “Do you know about my free SIM cards? Of course you do—‘sall over the mainstream! But what you don’t know about that when activated, a neurological wave triggers the centers of aggression and switches off inhibitors.”

“So, what you’re saying is…the signal makes people go into rages?” Eggsy asks, horrified. “Like in the comics? But I didn’t have one of those cards!”

“You were in such close proximity that you were affected, too.”

“But _why_?” Eggsy insists. He’s trying to buy time, trying to figure a way out, even if he’s outnumbered and not in his best form at the moment. Not to mention that he has no more weapons... “Why do this? You’re a _genius_ —and I used to _admire_ you; you dug yourself out of the estates and became a _billionaire_ and I thought that SIM card move was a way to help people like us, who can’t afford—”

“Our planet is _dying_ ,” Valentine insists, stepping closer. “And I may be a billionaire, but money isn’t the solution, nor the election-seeking, arrogant politicians. We need a faster solution to save Earth from global warming—and to do that, we need to establish population control.”

“Population control?” Eggsy indignantly demands. “You do know what you’re sounding like, don’t you?”

Valentine frowns. He almost looks genuinely disappointed. “So, I’m guessing you don’t think very much of my plan? I _do_ have a PowerPoint back at my place that I can show you…”

“No, thanks. Because I already know that you’re a _psycho_. That was you, right? Kidnapping a bunch of famous people and trying to get them to agree?”

“Many did. And you don’t want to feel like that—“ Valentine gestures to Eggsy’s bloody suit – “again, do you? We can install a chip—no pain involved—and you can be _immune_. You can be part of a new era.”

Eggsy violently shakes his head. “There’s no way I’d agree to do that. Fuck you,” he utters, defiantly.

Valentine sighs. "Shame," he murmurs, and whips out a gun, pointing and shooting, eyes averted.

The startling _bang_ is the last thing Eggsy hears.


End file.
